


When They Play Against The Wall (But They Won't Play With You)

by henriettaholden



Category: Real Person Fiction, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Monster of the Week, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriettaholden/pseuds/henriettaholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She met him on the back roads of Oklahoma, wandering around Jefferson like he had nothing better to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When They Play Against The Wall (But They Won't Play With You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my_sam_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_sam_dean/gifts).



When They Play Against The Wall (But They Don't Play With You) 

She met him on the back roads of Oklahoma, wandering around Jefferson like he had nothing better to do. She was wary of him, with his charming smile and the way he placed the cowboy hat on her head. He leant against the bar with his guitar across his back and chatted as if the world wasn’t falling to pieces. She only started trusting him when she socked him over the head during a bar fight and he told her ‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart’ when he woke up. 

Jo could hear her mother saying ‘Don’t go ‘round with hunters’. She never said anything about musicians. 

  
The month was particularly dry when she went looking for the Vrillsa. She left Chris in the scratchy bed as the dawn broke across his skin. They had gotten as far as Texas before she found an obit that looked suspicious. 

It took her a couple of days before she could shake him. He was all sweet and nuzzled into her neck when she complained about cramps. 

“I don’t care you’re on your rag, sweetheart. I can just hold you.” 

She didn’t believe in gentlemen before she met him. 

He rolled over, searching for her amongst the sheets. Jo closed the door with a small click. 

  
The stifling silence was only filled by the heat of the summer as she slipped away from the inn. His truck rumbled beneath her, just like he did after a particularly good evening. She had to focus, not let thoughts of his languid limbs lounged across the bed distract her from the hunt. 

She pulled over, parking in front of the single Starbucks in the small town. Her momma didn’t raise a pick pocket, but Jo overheard a drunk bragging about his porn laptop. Requisitioning for the greater good, and all. 

The library website had all the answers she needed. Cattle mutilations and shells of locusts strewn across the entrances of public buildings reported in the local news and she had her monster. Jo shoved the laptop into her bag, the Starbucks in the past as she dropped into the shadows. 

  
“Dean?” He looked good in the night time, the street lights casting the shade across his freckled nose. She couldn’t see his eyes for the dark. His haunted past, all but shadows eaten by the night. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t ask after Sam. 

“You here for the Vrillsa?” And he didn’t feel the need to explain himself. 

Jo nodded. She could argue with him about who was here first but that would have no dice with Dean. 

“You gonna come with or what?” His gruff voice filtered back to her as he started towards the lifeless library. 

“Do you know what this thing looks like?” She pulled the silver knife from its sheath. 

“Looks like Gene Simmons after plastic surgery.” 

Her snort sent a smirk skittering across his lips. He turned back to the locked doors, and brushed away the cicadas with his boots. 

“Silver to the heart?” She asked as the quiet click of the door closed behind her. 

“Silver to the heart.” 

It was hiding in the stacks of Nineteenth Century literature, the white of its eyes above  _Through the Looking Glass_. Its shaggy hair was dotted with spots of white, the skin from its victims, and its talons were reaching out towards Jo. Her arm was strewn with scratches before Dean’s bullet returned it to the dead. 

  
“Sweetheart? What the hell happened?” 

She brushed off his concerned touches and went straight for the bathroom. 

Chris didn’t notice the guy leaning against the closed door. 

“You didn’t tell me you already had someone when you invited me back here, Jo.” Dean accused, scaring Chris out of his mind. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

“Right back atcha, cowboy.” 

“God, shut up. Both of you,” she called from over the sink. Chris would probably be trying to intimidate Dean to no avail. 

Her wound was bandaged before they finished their pissing contest. Chris had Dean up against the door when she returned to the main room. Their faces so close that their eyelashes were almost touching. 

“Ahem.” 

Dean was dropped from the door. He wiped the smirk from his face with his flannel sleeve. 

“You boys gonna place nice?” 

Chris moved to her side, Dean forgotten as his brows drew a line of worry across his forehead. His hands rested on her shoulders, careful not to touch the bandaged gashes. 

“Come on, let me take care of you,” his rough voice whispered in her ear. 

  
It was as if his fingertips could shed the skin she wore whenever Dean was near. 

“I’m fine, Chris.” 

He moved her to the bed, hands worrying down her back. 

“Who is this guy, sweetheart?” 

“He’s a family...acquaintance.” 

Chris didn’t ask why he was still there. 

“Are you hurting? I’ll get you some painkillers.” 

Her head hit the pillow. Dean’s footsteps were quiet, but the bed groaned when he sat down. Chris didn’t close the bathroom door. 

“He makes you think you’re safe, Jo.” Dean’s voice was soft, slipping underneath the rustling in the cabinets. 

“I’m a big girl. I’m prepared for the worst.” 

“Yeah?” He flipped her onto her stomach, all of her breath scurrying from her lungs. “What you going to do when the shadows come for him, huh?” 

  
His palm pinned her to the bed. 

“What the hell are you doing?” The aspirin slipped through Chris’s fingers. 

“He sure asks a lot of questions.” Dean let Jo up, and she scowled. 

“Please, just get along for a night.” 

“Get along like,” his eyebrow rose to take in Chris, “ _Get along_?” 

She ignored him but it wasn’t easy. His fingertips were creeping up the duvet in the rhythms of classic rock. 

“Chris, Dean needs a safe place to crash.” 

“I don’t like this, sweetheart.” He sat on the bed next to her, his blue   
eyes captured in the song of Dean’s hands. Hands which were awfully close to Jo. 

“He saved my life.” 

Chris was reluctant to even hand over a pillow as Dean settled on the floor with a smirk. 

  
Dean had moved from the floor. She could tell because that wasn’t Chris’s arm and her ass was warm when it shouldn’t be. She kept still. 

The blood had soaked her bandage. The acrid smell swept beneath the taste of Chris on her tongue. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Chris was still snoring. He couldn’t glare at Dean’s hand on her waist. His foot wormed its way through the tangle of their legs. 

“This could have been worse.” His lips skirted the bandage. 

The hills of her curves projected onto the panelled wall. 

“You were there. To catch me.” 

Chris’s stubble brushed down her neck. His eyelids were shut but his hand found her breast. 

Dean’s fingers traced the gasp on her lips. 

The moon lit up the intimacy across the room, the movement of their limbs singing a long song of shadows. 

Chris rumbled into her clavicle. 

“Huh?” 

“You want to, sweetheart?” His lips returned to her skin. 

They stripped her of her sweatpants in seconds. 

  
The light slipped through the gap in the curtains, Dean’s big hands casting a shadow across her stomach. The darkness trailed down to her clitoris, his long fingers hovering in mid air. Every taste of Chris’s quiet breathes on her skin sent sensations running straight to her centre. 

The shocking push of their fingers, teasing and tasting her responses like desperados, made Jo shake. Thumbs pressed into her skin, walking her body with fervour. Her thoughts rattled out of her mouth, and the soft scrape of Chris’s ragged fingernails across her clitoris ended her composure. She broke down into chaos when they gripped her tight in an intimate embrace. Jo’s orgasm ached in every cell, and lingered in her limbs. 

The shadows still on the wall. All but sob sounds in their room. Dean had Chris in his hand before the moon snuck further into their room. 

“You gonna let me?” 

Chris grunted, sliding over Jo and into Dean’s face. The taste of immediacy in his eyes treaded a line thing across Chris’s morals. He looked away, eyes tracing the dotted wallpaper. Chris’s shadow was pressed along Dean’s but their bodies were freeze framed. Only when the twitch of Dean’s wrist, bone flush with the head of his dick, did Chris arch into his touch. 

Jo’s forefinger slid down Chris’s forehead and across to Dean’s nose. Chris had Dean wrapped in his small hands and their light along the walls brightened. The darkness merged into one and Dean came. 

  
When Jo was resettled between them, Chris’s arm stretched across her body and Dean fingered the sheets next to Chris. The lamp of the motel flickered on, casting away the gullies of the whispers of evening. 

“Maybe he can stay for another night.” Chris murmured into her ear before nodding off, his fingers brushing Dean’s thigh.

 

 

**Disclaimer: Supernatural characters are owned by the people who own Supernatural. Christian Kane is an entity unto himself.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _This is for my_sam_dean for spnthreesome challenge. Thanks to ssddgr for looking over my work, as always._ Originally posted on Livejournal on the December 1, 2010


End file.
